


The Dirty Taste in the Back of your Throat

by DarkestHeir



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Hatred, Sleazy Moomin, Sleazy Moomin AU, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 22:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestHeir/pseuds/DarkestHeir
Summary: Trying to escape his own thoughts, Sniff finds something interesting in a bar.





	The Dirty Taste in the Back of your Throat

**Author's Note:**

> Sniff is human in this!  
this is based off the wonderful Sleazy Moomin AU made by SaltyShota!  
[on tumbr!](https://saltysh0ta.tumblr.com)  
[on insta!](https://www.instagram.com/saltyshot.a/)  
check him out his work is lovely

When Sniff had first arrived at the bar a month or two back, it was to get rid of the dreadful thoughts that plagued him that night. Thoughts that inevitably got underneath his skin and made him feel like grime, dirt, plaque stuck to uncleaned sinks in a shitty little bathroom with only three damn stalls. 

It was a dingy little place near home.

He was tall and lanky and the scruff scarcely placed on his face seemed to convince the tired looking bar man that he was old enough to be there. Or maybe the man didn’t care. Sniff didn’t look like some straight laced idiot willing to get himself in trouble just to tell on a bar owner for selling an underage boy some drinks. So maybe he didn’t worry about it, and that was absolutely fine for both of them it seemed. 

So Sniff had arrived at the bar, irritated and angry and more than willing to drink his brain away and right into the gutter where it belonged. No one seemed to care enough to stop him either, drink after drink piling up and up and up. It piled until he had to go to the bathroom, sure he was going to throw up, stumbling over his own feet. The feeling in his head blocked out by the alcohol lurking in blood. It made his entire body hot, his skin flushing red and not from the shame he felt for once.

Sniff had stared at himself in the mirror that night. Looking at himself as the world seem to tilt back and forth so lazily, as if he was on a ship, eyes unfocused and skin clammy. He looked like shit; he had felt like shit. Thinking was never fun, and recently it had only got harder. It had gotten harder to keep at bay the ideas of his friend.

Of Snufkin really. With his almost always bruised face, lips wrapped around a cigarette, looking so tired and smiling at Sniff on occasion when they smoked and joked. How Snufkin looked in his bed when they smoked together in his room, the smell of weed thick and the window only doing so much to suck it out. He wasn’t certain what he wanted form Snufkin, to be under him, on top of him, to stroke the exposed skin that lay beneath Snufkin’s ratty sweater.

  
  


His stares had begun to linger, his touches too, Snufkin was sure to notice and despise him soon enough. 

Sniff had slammed his hands on the sink a few times; the cheap metal of his rings clanging on every impact before splashing some water on his face. The reflection looking back at him was a haggard mess, sweating from the heat underneath his skin and eyes unfocused.

He needed more to drink, he needed more to prevent all of these thoughts out. Disgusting, weird and uncomfortable. They weren’t abnormal, though, he knew Snufkin was bisexual, so why did he hate himself so much? Why did the idea of kissing Snufkin make him so hot and yet so disgusted at himself and only himself?

They were all stupid questions. Sniff had determined, and more alcohol wasn’t going to get into his body standing at the sink and thinking about how nasty he was. 

His body seemed to agree, and decided that it needed to make room for it all, propelling him into the smaller stall with a running drunken start. Puke threatening to spill from his lips until the moment he opened his mouth and officially let it out.

Sniff was hunched over the toilet, throwing up almost pure liquid, foul and tasting just as bad as it smelled. It stuck to his tongue and onto the back of his throat. Sniff was left gasping, grasping at the sides of the toilet, somewhere in the back of his mind hoping it was cleaner than the sink and the walls plastered in graffiti and long dried yellowing stains.

When he ultimately raised his head from the toilet, he sat back, leaning against the stall wall, the floor was grimy, and Sniff wondered if this place was even allowed to be open when the bathroom was this shitty. 

That was when he saw it, the thing that slotted a new area of routine in his life. 

  
  


There was a perfectly circular hole in the wall, about his face level as he sat there, slumped and exhausted. This wasn’t a gay bar; it was just a typical sleazy messy bar, filled with the impoverished and the long tired workers. Yet there it was, the muted light of the bathroom showing him the stall on the other side, the edges smooth underneath his finger tips. How did people even get things like this put into place?

Why did he want to try it?

Sniff had stumbled home that day, falling asleep the moment he landed in his bed. He dreamt of vague shapes and a heavy feeling settling on his tongue.

He returned the following weekend, his body buzzing with curiosity and excitement (and about two beers) as he entered the bathroom once more. Sniff wasn’t sure why he sat there on the floor, knees the only things showing from underneath the stall walls and doors. He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there either, but he sat there, playing on his phone. So desperately trying to ignore the screaming in his head that told him how wrong this was, how disgusting it was. Instead trying to concentrate on the words on his screen and the distant muffled rock music from the bar, just outside of his new little self-made prison. 

Faggot, whore, dirty. Disgusting pathetic-

Someone entered the bathroom and paused at the doorway a bit too long for comfort, his brain’s self-destructive cycle of thoughts screeching to a halt. Sniff’s hands were trembling. His mouth suddenly dry and his stomach twisting itself into knots so viciously that Sniff thought he might puke just like last week. The feeling only got worse as the door closed with a gentle swoosh of air behind whomever had entered. All Sniff could see were boots and jean legs. Both of them covered in a weird flaky grey, kind of like concrete. A construction worker, it wouldn’t surprise him too bad.

What did surprise him was when the stranger entered the stall on the other side of the hole.

Sniff wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement but something had the blood pumping through his veins. Simultaneously hot and ice cold that made the palms of his hands sweat a little more with each passing moment. The man stood in his own space for a few seconds, no noise, no movement. Then came the shuffle of clothes, the stranger was patting his pockets in search of something. He found it with a pleased noise, deep in the back of his throat, like a hum.

Sniff jumped back in surprise when a 20-dollar bill came through the hole, well he wasn’t expecting that. Then again, he hadn’t been expected to ever be on his knees for a random man in a sleazy bar. Taking the money and booking it wouldn’t be hard, his legs were long and perfect for running but was that effort worth it? It was just 20 dollars.

Was making himself a whore worth it? 

It seemed that Sniff was taking too long, his indecisiveness not sitting well with the man on the other side of the thin wall. He hit the stall once, the crappily made thing shaking at the bolts. It was enough to send Sniff to gear. His hand reached out and took the money before his brain had any chance to scream at him to stop, thrusting it in his jeans pocket. What now? What did he do now?

The stranger seemed to know the answer to his question, eagerly at that. He didn’t respond with words, just sounds. The clanking of a belt, the ruffling of clothes, and then, well. Porn really couldn’t prepare him for the sight that made every single part of Sniff burn. It was a lot different in real life. The man was already half hard, and Sniff could feel himself stirring in his pants with a similar problem as he shuffled towards the stranger. Sniff swallowed hard, he could feel himself shaking as he parted his lips and leaned in.

He let his hot breath ghost over the sensitive skin, lifting up his hand with hesitance to wrap his long fingers around the man right against the wall. Sniff isn’t sure what he expected from the other man. He smelled like skin did, and maybe a bit of sweat. 

He started off slowly, stroking, watching in amazement as he got harder in his hand. Sniff has touched himself of course; he knows what it feels. He knows what it felt like to get hard and the firmness and the pre-cum but still. Sniff couldn’t hide his own amazement and wide eyed stare, the way the skin pulled back as he stroked, the veins there and the occasional twitch. Was he always this hot when he touched himself?

Sniff opened his mouth again, lips brushing against the head and taking a deep breath. Salt, bitter, a strange indescribable taste covered his tongue as he gave a timid lick over the slit. The man seemed to sag against the wall. Sniff could hear the irregular breathing faintly over the pounding of blood in his ears. He repeated the motion, again, and again, fuck was he actually drooling? Sniff finally opened his mouth, taking the head of the cock into his mouth and continued lapping, how much of this could he even take?

Well. Only one way to find out.

Maybe porn was good for something, at least he vaguely knew what to do and what not to do. Sniff kept working his mouth as he sank, cheeks hollowing out, tongue running against the underside of his dick, lips pursed and tight. The man seemed to appreciate it a good amount as Sniff pulled a groan from him. 

He liked knowing that it was because of him. He liked that a lot.

Sniff forced himself further, closing his eyes and concentrating on everything else. The feeling on his tongue, the taste of the hot skin, the sounds of the man grunting on occasion that made Sniff feel accomplished. Each bob of his head going deeper and deeper. Until he hit his gag reflex and pulled back, nearly throwing up in his mouth. 

That was a problem, and Sniff apologized by moving his hand again. His own spit working as a suitable replacement for lube, the skin on skin contact became a lot smoother. He took a few deep breaths, air lightly brushing against the skin and making the stranger thrust against the wall, craving more contact, the one he had paid for. 

Sniff swallowed, taking another deep breath before trying once more. He swirled his tongue around the head, recapturing the bitter taste before going back down. Trying his best to keep his throat open, hands never stopping on the cock he couldn’t fit into his mouth. He wasn’t sure how long this was taking, all he was concentrating on was moving his tongue the right way, tracing veins and on occasion humming much to the mans perceive delight. His jaw was aching a bit, not used to staying open like this, avoiding teeth and using all parts of his mouth. 

So entranced by the sounds, by the taste, that he didn’t notice how frantic the man’s breathing was until it was a few seconds too late.

The first shot of cum went right into Sniff’s throat with a sound of surprise. The bitter taste was now smeared across the inside of his mouth and the back of his throat. The trail ended at the tip of his tongue and splattered across his face, warm and runny and only a little bit disgusting. Sniff sat there, the man grunting and cock twitching as it spilled his seed right on Sniff’s face, still a bit taken aback to fully move away.

It wasn’t much, it didn’t last long, but it still dripped down his chin and cheeks, splattering on the edges of his jeans. Sniff took the edge of his flannel sleeve and wiped off what he could, the scent stayed. Heavy in musk and salt. There was a brief moment where Sniff wasn’t sure what to do. The 20 dollar bill in his pocket sat heavily against his leg while he took a deep breath. Everything tasted like this stranger, no matter which way he breath it seemed to reignite the taste that sullied his mouth.

There wasn’t much left after that. The man left with little hurry, buckling up his pants, washing his hands and leaving the bathroom. Leaving Sniff alone to wallow and contemplate on what he had just done.

20 dollars. 20 dollars, a sticky residue, and a sudden yearning to drown his entire skull in whiskey was all he was left with. 

Sniff stood up on shaky legs, his hands were shaking too-  _ fuckin shit _ \- he was hard ontop of that. It only made the taste of dirt flow out from his mouth and down his chest. Grime rubbing itself wherever it could reach as he stumbled his way out from the stall and looked into the shitty and equally grimy mirror. 

There was some cum on the high end of his cheek bone, taunting him of his endeavor as he wiped it away with his already dirty sleeve. He looked terrible, he felt terrible, like it had all just gone back in some giant fucking circle but now he should feel terrible. 

He was a whore now after all.

So maybe the 20 dollars were spent on as much whiskey it could buy, or as much Sniff could handle. Which wasn’t much. Snufkin always made fun of him for being a lightweight. Three shots in and eight dollars gone Sniff stumbled home. Face red from the newly consumed alcohol and cock finally dead underneath the crippling self-hatred that had steadily formed the moment he left the bathroom. 

That night he fell asleep and tried not to think of how dirty he felt. The entire week he might have drank a bit more than usual, might have been high more than half of the time. Sniff thought it was fine until Snufkin, fuckin Snufkin, with all of his bruises and pretty eyes that made his heart beat a bit too fast, asked if he was okay.

Obviously he was, nothing was wrong. Snufkin didn’t buy it, but they weren’t the prying type of people so it was left at that. 

Despite all of that, it wasn’t enough to prevent him from coming back the very next week. Same day, around the same hour. It seems the original man had spread the word, because not even 15 minutes into sitting down in the dingy little stall, playing on his phone and trying to quell the anxiety beating in his chest did some man walk in. Sniff couldn’t help but observe the man’s shoes, ratty, pants similar, yet he smelled clean at least. Thank god. 

So for the second week in a row, Sniff sucked some random man off, on his knees, fully anonymous. Disregarding any potential hazards about such an unprotected situation, something in the back of his brain cooing. Muttering that he deserved it distantly, what it was Sniff wasn’t fully sure. After all, it was quickly overshadowed by how hard he seemed to get every time he opened his mouth to let another random man in.

20 upfront.

It seemed to be the quickly agreed upon consensus amongst those who stepped into the seedy bar for a drink and stepped into the filthy bathroom for something more. Operation all neatly hidden by cheap stall wall in a sleazy little bar. He made 60 dollars his following week. His third he scored 100 in less than 4 hours. 

It only costed his dignity, and maybe his liver as he tried washing away the shame every night with whatever heavy drink landed in his hand. 

He got better at it too, lots of practice after all. In return, more men appeared ever so slowly. It had his perks, material things, better weed, legitimate jewelry, all of which seemed to do nothing to the nagging feeling in the back of his head whenever he entered the bar. Eyes followed him in; they all knew who he was and yet no one said anything about the lanky teenager that was allowed to stroll in and hide away in the bathroom for hours. 

Sniff had yet to consider the option of stopping, knowing he could. Even now, as he found himself at the end of another 20, stacking up nicely in his pocket, he found himself thinking of next week. With no lessening guilt, and never lessening need of whiskey to burn away the taste of men.

They all blurred together eventually, and sometimes Sniff would find himself with a handful of cash, staring at himself in the mirror at home. He wasn’t absolutely certain how he got there, but he felt hot and needy and sick all at the same time. It just became a Saturday night.


End file.
